


Saint

by Bazylia_de_Grean



Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Gen, PoE Inktober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 21:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16773568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bazylia_de_Grean/pseuds/Bazylia_de_Grean
Summary: The temple looks exactly like on the day when you first arrived here, as a young acolyte. Now, it seems that happened in another life.You never expected to return so soon.





	Saint

**Author's Note:**

> (PoE Inktober, prompt 29: Saint)

The temple looks exactly like on the day when you first arrived here, as a young acolyte. Now, it seems that happened in another life. And yet you feel almost as you did back then. Doubting, lost… but hopeful, despite all. Also more bitter, more battered, more jaded. Broken… but not shattered.

You never expected to return so soon. It took months, and the Inquisition is a very different place than the one you left, from what you have heard – everything is slowly calming down. Maybe the same will happen to you.

Rest was supposed to heal the wounds in your soul, but nothing could fill the cracks. And – you did not fit. People you used to know still care, still treated you in the same way – and that is what you could not bear. Because you are different. Changed. And they were afraid to acknowledge it.

You were, too, when you first realized it. But that was, in some ways, worse than the Inquisition had been. Invisibility. Wearing your distant past like a colourful, cheerful mask. Hiding all the doubts behind tiredness.

That exile was supposed to be a mercy, a time for you to recuperate. It was nothing but another torture. You still wonder whether Thaos did that on purpose.

There was no message, nothing to inform him of your arrival. But as you walk along the well-known stone halls and corridors filled with the eerie light of adra lamps, you have the feeling that he knows anyway, that he senses your presence. His thoughts can reach far, and maybe it is not even possible to hide from him. You are not going to try.

The evening prayers have just ended; people whisper as you pass them by, some – friends, fellow Inquisitors and priests – smile when they see you; some – new acolytes – stare at you with awe, as if they saw a legendary hero. Is that what you are to them? What you will be to history? Or will you be forgotten? You ignore their greetings, lost in musings.

When you enter the chapel, it is empty, save for Thaos, taking off his ceremonial vestments. It is like reliving a memory, like travelling back in time – and without a word you walk over and take the winged headdress from his hands.

His hair is white, almost translucent in the dim light, his skin like crumpled parchment; he has visibly aged during you absence. But so have you. It seems the ordeals of the Inquisition have left no one unscathed, your souls branded by fire like Iovara’s face was.

You are certain that he can read it all in your mind as your eyes meet. That is why you returned. Maybe he will never give you some answers, those you crave – _need_ – the most. But he _understands_.

He nods slowly, as if in reply. “Welcome home,” he greets you quietly.

“Eminence,” you reply, deferentially enough, even if your lips feel numb when you say that word.

This is not your home; perhaps it has never been. But there is no other place where you can be yourself, even if only in the silence of your thoughts. Thinking of doubts is not forbidden, merely speaking of them too loudly. With him, there is no need to talk.

Thaos watches you closely. Probably trying to read your soul, but you can no longer notice when he does so. It should worry you, but it does not. This… makes things easier. Some things, at least. Small graces. You want to laugh at using that expression, you want to cry at being aware of that.

You help him fold the ceremonial vestments, glad to occupy your hands, and keep breathing until the anxiety passes. All that remains is a resigned sort of calm – but it is preferable to that dreadful feeling of the whole world shaking and crumbling around you.

Is that why back then, Thaos said that you would return? Did he know all along? Do you want to learn that answer? Does it even matter?

In his simple, everyday robe, very similar to yours, he no longer seems so imposing. He is close, approachable, just as he was when you were an acolyte. No secrets, no difficult decisions. Just your teacher, guide, mentor. It is an illusion, you know; but for a moment, you are almost grateful for it.

Thaos sighs, and suddenly he looks just as ancient as the temple you are in, exhaustion settling over his shoulders like a shroud.

“I see and understand your doubts, Inquisitor. Indeed, they are too familiar.” A brief smile twist his lips; bleak, bitter. “This is difficult, gruesome work. It stains the mind and scars the soul. But it is necessary.” He lifts his hand and puts it on your shoulder, and you try not to flinch; it is still warm, like you remember, but much lighter than it used to be; blood and skin and bones. Only his eyes are the same: focused, sharp, deep; polished adra. “We turns ourselves into sinners so that others could become saints.”


End file.
